


Our Own Sense Of Time

by provocation



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Christmas, F/F, alternate title - monsterfucking but make it romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocation/pseuds/provocation
Summary: Sam meets Hannah on the set of a horror movie they're co-starring in.(This is a gift for the 2018Until Dawn Secret Santa!)





	Our Own Sense Of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaikaijuDanielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaikaijuDanielle/gifts).



> You wouldn't believe how much fun I had writing this one. From even before I signed up for the exchange I have admired Danielle's art and fanfiction; I am head over heels for her characterization of Hanndigo and I really believe she's one of the best people in the fandom. When I got her as my gift recipient I struggled for a while with what to write, and when this idea finally hit me I knew I had to run with it. I wanted to write something that explores Hannah's monstrosity and how the game affects her character arc, and it was also a delight to write almost entirely from Sam's perspective. I hope the giftee (and everyone else) enjoys this!
> 
> Quickly before we begin;  
> -Jennifer Bridger is entirely fictional. I borrowed her name from Roman Bridger (the director in Scream 3) and Jennifer's Body, and borrowed her style from David Fincher and Karyn Kusama.  
> -Hallie is also a name from Scream.  
> -Adam, Evelyn, and Billy are all minor characters from Until Dawn.  
> -The poem referenced in Hannah's book is [Leisure, Hannah, Does Not Agree With You (2)](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56060/leisure-hannah-does-not-agree-with-you-2) and was a huge source of inspiration as I wrote this.  
> -Aardvark's exists. I have no clue if they have vegan options.  
> -The title is a quote from Vampire Weekend's [Hannah Hunt](https://genius.com/Vampire-weekend-hannah-hunt-lyrics).
> 
> This has not been fully edited or double-checked by anyone except myself, so if there are any obvious mistakes please let me know. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

A monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.

 **Ocean Vuong** **, from “** **_A Letter To My Mother That She Will Never Read_ ** **”, published in** **_The New Yorker_ **

 

 

The last words Sam ever says to her girlfriend are “I wanted it to be you.”

  


The first words Sam ever says to her girlfriend are “I’m sorry, you just don’t seem that scary!”

The monster still hulks over her, breathing hard and trying not to step over the tape on its mark. But confusion flickers in those soft brown eyes, further ruining the monstrous moment— and the take.

“CUT,” the director screeches from across the room, loudly enough to scare the cameraman. The tripod wiggles in a way that metal probably shouldn’t be made to wiggle.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out before anyone can say anything. In the opposite corner of the room is her agent Emily, currently looking like she wants to pour tar down Sam’s throat. “Sorry!” A nervous giggle escapes her.

“It’s fine,” the director, Jennifer, sighs, sounding too exhausted to be this early in pre-production. Sam pays her no mind, attention wholly stolen by the monster— no, the woman— the _celebrity_ in front of her, Hannah Washington. The real-life Hannah is just as radiant as she is on a screen, and just as expressive, too. Right now, her expression is one of absolute embarrassment. “Just try to remember, this is only a screen test for chemistry.”

“Right,” Sam nods nervously. “I— I know that. It’s just, she doesn’t...“

The sentence peters off, leaving her standing awkwardly with all eyes on the room on her. Sam can hardly finish her thought with ' _she doesn’t look like a wendigo, she looks like Nominee For Best Actress_ ’, because someone will undoubtedly point out how it is in fact Sam’s job to literally act.

“She’s right. At this part in the script she doesn’t know I’m Hallie, all she sees is the wendigo,” Hannah interrupts, ending Sam’s sentence for her. Her voice sounds gentler than it did in _Asunción_ , and Sam is overwhelmed with gratitude. “I want to start with practical effects as soon as I can, seeing as that’s one of the reasons I signed on.”

“Sure, but we don’t have _anything_ yet,” Jennifer says, both amused and impatient. “We’re doing your measurements next week, but we need to cast Jordan before then.”

It only takes her gaze sweeping halfway around the room before Hannah says, “What about that?” and marches over to what Sam assumes is somebody else’s craft table. She picks up one of the grocery bags wrapped around a box of donuts, shaking the donuts free. “Can we try this?”

“Can we try donuts?”

“ _This_ ,” Hannah walks back to Sam, excitement contagious and electric. She pulls the white bag over her head and then her shoulders, and plastic stretches out over her features, making her skull unrecognizable. It’s pretty high up on the list of weird things to happen to Sam in screen tests.

“Fuck, Hannah. Please don’t strangle yourself,” the director mumbles, sliding her head into her hands. “Samantha, you ready for another take?”

“Yes,” Sam nods jerkily, adjusting her stance. The plastic bag is emblazoned with _Greenwater Grocers: HAVE A NICE DAY! ,_  and there’s a thin line of red smeared along the inside— one of the jelly donuts, hopefully. But despite all that, the practical distortion is doing the trick.

Hannah seems taller than before, her eyes and skin and hair all blank. All Sam can see is the breathing, and as it fills her field of vision it’s suddenly all she can hear. Sam can almost imagine the skin torn back over her co-star’s cheeks, pupils unnaturally alight, salient bones jutting out from places they shouldn’t.

If someone calls action, Sam misses it. She needs no further prompting, she’s there— her chest is tight, palms damp. The script instructs them to take a moment to stare at each other— Sam remembers the exact wording in the sides because it had been so grisly— ‘ _Jordan at her greatest fear, and Makkapitew at its next meal._ ’

But as she waits and stares, Sam starts to feel heavy unease. Trying to find a good eyeline on the blank face is like falling down a smooth plane, trying to find anything to hang onto. That sensation, paired with the raspberry jelly blood sends Sam into a moment of despair.

When her line comes, it comes out sounding like nothing she rehearsed. “Please don’t kill me,” she begs, but the plea doesn’t sound desperate. She only sounds resigned, and powerfully sad.

Hannah stays silent, bag shifting with every heavy breath. Her head tilts slowly to the side.

“Not like this,” Sam shakes her head, fear pushing her to lean away. She takes a step back and then remembers her mark— there’s supposed to be a cliff behind her, the same cliff that she and her friends goaded Hallie into falling off.

Sam quickly swings forward before Jordan’s fright can hold her back, and the motion leads her straight forward into the wendigo’s chest. Hannah isn’t that tall but Makkapitew is seven feet, so Sam shrinks down a little and looks up at the monster before her. Hannah gets the memo, and moves closer until their faces are almost touching. Before Sam can say anything else, Hannah releases her grip on the bag to reach forward and grab Sam’s shoulders.

“ _No_!” Sam shrieks, probably too loud for the recording. She’s supposed to struggle but the hands curled around her shoulder feel too comforting, especially if she imagines a snowy mountain cliff only a foot behind her. Instead of pushing Hannah back her hands fly forward, and she grabs onto Hannah’s arms tightly. “Please, no, no, I can’t die, I can’t— please, if there’s anyone listening in there, if you can... if you can understand me. Can you understand me? Don’t do this.”

Hannah’s nails dig into her shoulder for a moment, and then she pulls one hand away to rip the bag off her head. There’s powdered sugar sticking to her forehead and red jelly filling smeared across her mouth and nose, but her eyes are wild and feral.

This is the part that had made rehearsals a nightmare, but in the moment Sam isn’t thinking about rehearsal at all, too busy taking in the sight in front of her— so when said sight screeches at the top of her lungs, Sam releases a terrified yelp too. The scream actually scares her, and Sam can feel tears welling up behind her eyes. “Don’t hurt me,” she says instinctively, still holding onto Hannah’s arms tightly. “Don’t hurt me.”

“But you hurt me,” Hannah snaps at her, grip releasing on her shoulders. Sam understands, instantaneously, why Hannah was cast in this role. There are tears in Hannah’s eyes too that Sam is only noticing now. Her crying might have been explained by how loudly she screeched if it wasn’t for the way she spoke, like she’s been waiting a year to say those very words.

“... _Hallie?”_

“Cut,” the camera operator calls. Both women drop their grip on each other like they’ve been scalded.

_And then the sun starts to rise, and Makkapitew screeches and bounds away, leaving Jordan alone and terrified, chest heaving._

“That was great,” Jennifer says, clapping her hands together in excitement. Emily looks up from her phone at the back, where she’s clearly been reading emails. Sam only feels a little indignant that Emily missed the best performance of her life. “I think that’s everything we need to see. Uh, Emily, you should know by Friday. Thank you, Samantha.”

“Thank you,” Sam mutters, wiping her eyes and undoubtedly ruining her make-up in the process. Emily is already out the door, holding it open for her, but what kind of fan would Sam be if she didn’t say anything? She turns to Hannah, offering her a tear-stained hand. “And, um, thank you, I really didn’t mean to take it there.”

“I love that you took it there,” Hannah gushes, taking Sam’s hand in both of hers. Her skin is soft and her perfect American accent is softer, smile wide and bright even though they just met by crying in front of each other. “I hope you get it. I want it to be you.”

“Oh,” Sam says, shocked. “Thank you so much!” The murderous look has returned to Emily’s face so she forces herself away, but she can’t help but throw over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “Me too!”

The last thing they hear as the door swings shut is “Hannah, you can’t tell people that. Someone clean her up before the next screen test, please, we have a full day left and she looks like she’s on crack.”

  


Since Sam’s very first audition, her routine has always included ice cream afterwards. When she left the audition that would end up landing her a role as a Disney child star and kick-start her career, her parents had suggested she skip the sugar rush. The ensuing temper tantrum made it entirely clear that cold ice cream was the only thing that would soothe Sam’s post-audition jitters, and to this day, the tradition continues.

Since Emily Davis signed Sam to her agency a year and a half ago, Sam has made Emily participate in the ritual every single time. These days it’s less colourful booths in ice cream parlours and more sitting on the roof of Emily’s car with whatever vegan flavours the nearest corner store has to offer. Today Sam has scored a pint of cashew peanut butter and jelly that doesn’t taste half bad, while Emily has stuck to her classic mint chocolate.

“Mine doesn’t taste half-bad,” Sam says around a mouthful of cashew butter cream. Even this late in the year the car is burning hot underneath them, hence why they’ve spread their jackets out over the metal. Sam knows Emily isn’t used to the dry California autumn either; they both migrated here from up north. “Wanna try?”

“I’m good,” Emily shakes her head, not offering Sam a sample of hers. “You know, most agents don’t do this.”

“Eat dairy?”

“Go to auditions,” Emily clarifies, squinting. “You do know that, right? That most clients don’t make their agents come to auditions with them?”

Sam rolls her eyes, licking her spoon clean. “It gets you out of the house.”

“I hardly spend any time in my house as is,” Emily complains. She is the grumpiest person to have ever held a pint of ice cream. “I would love to be able to spend more time at home.”

“We can start doing self-tapes in your house if you want,” Sam says, beaming.

Emily’s scowl darkens. “Is that supposed to be flirting? You’re so out of practice I can’t actually tell.”

“Rude!” Sam lobs a spoonful of ice cream at Emily, and it (fortunately) flies past her head. “You should be so lucky, Em.”

“What, to have a washed-up movie star trying to crash on my couch? I wouldn’t call that luck.”

The next spoonful catapults dangerously close to Emily’s suede jacket that probably costs more than Sam’s rent, and they glare at each other. “I’m not _washed up_.”

“Not for long.” Emily pulls her phone from her pocket, and Sam sighs. The problem with being friends with your agent is that eventually all casual conversation turns professional sooner or later. “Not after Jennifer Bridger calls me.”

“If she calls you,” Sam sighs again, drowning her sorrows in cashew cream. The spots of red jelly are a sudden reminder of her weird audition, and Sam hides a smile behind her spoon. Even if it was just for a few minutes for a screen test, it is exhilarating to remember the time she spent with Hannah.

  


That night Sam dreams about it, falling in and out of a restless slumber as a monster chases her down the halls of a high school she hasn’t visited in a decade. The creatures of her nightmares are usually more reptilian in nature but the wendigo is too believable for comfort as it screeches, jumping from lockers to the mildewed ceiling with ease. It looks like a spider, the only animal Sam has yet to find endearing.

Eventually her tossing and turning becomes more of a nuisance than she can handle, and Sam pulls herself out of bed. Her apartment is dark and lonely, and it’s all too easy to imagine spidery limbs prying her kitchen window open or long claws tearing through her deadbolt like butter.

Thankfully, Sam reasons with herself, she won’t have to be afraid of the wendigo for much longer. They’ll probably get some A-lister like Jessica Riley or Jennifer Lawrence to play Jordan, and Sam can resign herself to a life of nostalgia and mediocrity.

With that pessimism in mind, Sam sinks onto her couch, pulling a throw blanket over her bare legs and turning on Netflix. The comforting ‘ _duh-dumm_ ’ is an instant balm for her overactive imagination, reminding Sam she exists only within the physical world and that she doesn’t have to be worried about cannibalistic monsters.

In involuntary motion her subconsciousness moves the remote, and before Sam can settle into a good tearjerker like Grey’s, she finds the opening credits for _Asunción_ lighting up her living room. Sam pauses the film on the first vanity card, astonished by her own gayness.

She remembers the first time she watched _Asunción_. Due to the cost of plane tickets she’d missed the TIFF premiere, and when it came to LA for the festival circuit Sam had missed all those screenings too. She likes a good slasher flick as much as the next gal, but all the reviews of Josh Washington’s _Asunción_ had suggested it was less _Evil Dead_ and more _Suspiria_ , and Sam hardly wanted to embarrass herself in an audience of potential peers.

Of course she’d seen Hannah in movies before _Asunción_ ; her childhood bestie Mike made her sit through all of Bob Washington’s classics. Hannah may have gotten her start in movies like _Stake House_ but _Asunción_ was her real break-out role. Sam remembers sitting in the theatre alone, after all the buzz died down so she could go to the cinema and enjoy the movie in peace. Hannah and her twin sister Beth had both shone but Hannah was the clear star, hence her Oscar nomination.

Present day Sam is a little too keyed up to watch a film that might send her into a crisis, especially when she just spent the last few hours trying to fight off nightmares. She ends up putting on a horrible Christmas movie that she starred in, hoping that narcissism will help knock her out. The combination of that and a Benadryl works: as she watches her younger child-star self act her heart out, Sam starts to drift off.

When she goes back to sleep she is still standing in an empty memory, concave walls of her high school threatening to swallow her up. But this time no giant movie monsters are at the end of the hallway-- all she sees is Hannah Washington, wearing the blue dress from _Asunción_ that Halloween stores always sell out of first.

“Hallie,” Sam says, and Hannah steps towards her. Needless to say, it is not a nightmare.

  


When she gets the call from Emily the next morning Sam is mid-workout, pushing all of her thoughts into each step on the elliptical. It’s her favourite way to clear her brain-- that and hiking. She picks up without stopping, putting in headphones so as not to disrupt anyone else. When she first signed up at this gym the trainers had put a big emphasis on how many famous clients work out here, but Sam hasn’t seen anyone more exciting than the occasional Instagram influencer.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” she says before Emily can speak at all, huffing into the microphone. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Emily sounds unamused as always. “Are you psychic? Should I add that to your list of special skills?”

“No, but we’ve had this conversation after the last dozen auditions so I know this by heart. You want to focus on moving forwards so I don’t get sad about not booking it.” Sam wipes off her forehead with a towel, pushing harder into every step. “But the thing is, maybe it’s just not meant to be. I mean, if Jennifer Bridger doesn’t want me, then who the hell does?”

There is a pregnant pause, and then Emily says, “Jennifer Bridger is known for being particular--”

“You don’t have to comfort me. What I’m saying is that maybe instead of trying to kickstart my film career, I can really lean into sports. Like, if I’m doing ads for Nike with Serena, what’s stopping me from actually _doing_ tennis? Competitively?”

“You want to be a tennis star,” Emily deadpans.

“Or, lacrosse, track, whatever. Anything!”

“Sam.”

“Don’t you think it’s a good idea to start to focus on what I’m good at?”

“Samantha. You got the part.”

“Maybe it’s time to start--” Emily’s words sink in, and Sam falls off the elliptical. A couple heads turn to look over in concern but Sam isn’t focusing on anyone else, snatching her phone up to her ear. “I got it?!”

“She called me ten minutes ago,” Emily says. Sam can _see_ her eyes rolling.

“But I thought you said it was a Bridger film and she’s particular--”

“She _particularly_ wants you.”

Sam wipes herself off the floor, unable to disguise her massive grin. All she can think about is that she’ll get to work with an Academy Award winning director, and that her co-star is Hannah Washington, the subject of most of her celebrity fantasies for the last six years. “Holy crap. What’s the catch?”

  


The catch is that they’re filming in Canada, and that they’re filming over Christmas.

The first point isn’t a real deal-breaker as Sam’s career has taken her out of the States before. Alberta is nothing compared to Australia, especially considering that Sam has been to both and Alberta has significantly less scorpions. But this time she won’t be visiting the cities at all; they have a tight schedule that leaves no room for sightseeing.

The second point feels like it should be more worrying but Sam has never been an especially festive person, leaning more into holidays like Arbour Day. She doesn’t even have a Christmas tree, only a plastic wreath of fake poinsettias tucked away somewhere with her tangled collection of fairy lights.

So she accepts the role, resigning herself to spending her holidays in the Rockies. The hardest part is finding pet-sitters she trusts, and in the end she decides to entrust her various animals to a patchwork of caring friends and expensive professionals. Sam would never be able to pick a favourite but she leaves her frogs with Emily, who puts on a whole act about being annoyed but sends Sam ten pictures on the first day alone.

Despite her caring friends, leaving her life behind in LA for the uncertainty of operating on a film set in Canada is daunting. So Sam does what she’s always done since she was a child memorizing a script for the first time.

She throws herself into the story.

  


The story starts one year before Jordan stares down Makkapitew on that snowy cliff. It starts with a group of high school friends, teenagers in either their final or penultimate year. Jordan is in the latter category, but she’s already wise beyond her years. While other people allow their popularity to warp their personality, Jordan remains a do-gooder who always sticks up for the underdog.

In this case the underdog is Hallie Linn, Jordan’s inferior in all ways except height. Hallie is similar to Needy in _Jennifer’s Body_ , which Sam watches twice during pre-production. Despite Hallie’s imperfections and insecurities Jordan puts up with her, most likely due to Hallie’s endearing shyness and sharp sense of humour.

The jokes are something that surprise Sam from the very first rehearsal. They have hardly settled into their hotel rooms (Sam is still living out of her carry-on) but there is a febrile energy running through the entire cast and crew. Even though a few cast members are still on the way, they all sit around the table for what’s supposed to be a cold read-- Hannah has fully memorized her part.

Sam wants to compliment her, but she isn’t sure if that’s going to make her seem like an amateur. So she settles on a warm smile and handshake before they sit down, and if it makes her hand tingle throughout the entire reading, that’s her own business.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” one of the other actors says, and Sam is jolted back into reality. The jock Lucas is being read by Matthew Taylor, a popular musician trying his hand at acting. He’s doing well so far, and if Sam was into men she’d probably be very appreciative of his tight Henley. “I mean, I didn’t know someone invited you. No offense.”

“That’s why your football team lost your last big game, right?” Hannah cocks her head to the side, staring daggers into Matt’s eyes. “No _offense_.”

Sam chokes out a surprised laugh and a couple heads turn to look at her, including Jennifer and Hannah. It’s not the protective reaction Jordan is supposed to feel, and Sam ducks her head in embarrassment. “Sorry! That was funny.”

Hannah’s expression softens although Jennifer remains stoic, and Matt pauses for a second before he laughs too. “Oh! No _offense_! I get it now, I thought she was just being rude.”

“She is,” Hannah says, but she’s smiling. Sam’s hands curl around her knees, fingers tracing over bone. “She’s super rude, but he deserves it.”

Jennifer clears her throat. “Can we take it back from your line, Hannah?”

“No offense,” Hannah repeats, emphasis in the same place but with a playful twinkle in her eye that makes it hard to remember Sam’s next line.

She glances down at her script, remembering instantly that Hallie might be a bitchy introvert but Jordan is her guardian extrovert. “Hey,” Sam interrupts, ignoring Hannah’s joke. “I invited her. So step off, Lucas.”

“Whoa, calm down,” Matt raises his hands and rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know she was like, your lesbian lover.”

“She isn’t,” Sam says without needing to read the lines. She makes sure to say it exactly the way she rehearsed back home, sparing a glance to look over at Hannah. “She’s my friend.”

_This is the first time anyone at the school calls Hallie their friend._

  


They finish their cold read ahead of schedule and Lucas-- no, _Matt_ gets up first. “I can’t wait to work with you,” he tells Sam, grin stretched ear-to-ear. “I’m a huge fan.”

It almost sounds ingratiating but Sam gets it; she feels the same way about the movie star on the other side of the table. “Thank you so much,” she replies automatically, and then reminds herself Matt isn’t just a fan, he’s her costar. “Your music is great! And you’re gonna be great as Lucas.”

“I’m not the star, that’s you two.” Matt points to Hannah and Sam, and Sam decides that she really likes him. She makes a mental note to actually listen to his music. “But that doesn’t make me any less excited.”

Someone calls Matt away and Sam resumes gathering her papers, tucking her newly marked script into her binder. Hannah has vanished from her seat across the table and Sam can’t hide her disappointment; that is, until a hand taps her on the shoulder. “Um… hey.”

Sam’s heart skips a beat before she even turns around. She may have watched _Jennifer’s Body_ twice before flying up here, but she watched _Asunción_ at least four times _and_ watched all the behind-the-scenes footage that only came on the Blu-ray.

“Hey,” she breathes, pivoting to see Hannah shouldering her bag with a somewhat nervous look. She rehearsed this more than any of Jordan’s lines. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me!”

Confusion flits across Hannah’s face-- then when she realizes what Sam is talking about she anxiously brushes a wisp of brown hair behind her glasses. “I didn’t. I mean... I didn’t need to affect anything. Everyone loved you.”

For a split second Sam is unable to shake the blind confidence of Jordan, and the impulse to say something stuck-up is jarring. She settles on a neutral “Thanks,” but it doesn’t feel like enough. She’s spent the last two weeks wasting away her November fantasizing about the woman in front of her, and now she’s here and she’s too worried she’s gonna come off as an asshole who stays in character. Mike is holding his head in his hands somewhere. “It felt, uh, really organic to run lines with you. You’re a lot more expressive than my cat.”

Sam has never understood the metaphor comparing bells to laughs, chalking it up to some forgotten wordplay or a melodramatic exaggeration. But instead of cringing Hannah laughs, and Sam could swear the sound hangs in the air like the ringing of golden bells. “Do you wanna get lunch somewhere?”

  


Lunch with a movie star ends up being greasy pizza with hand-tossed dough, consumed in a breezy parking lot because there hadn’t been seating inside.

“Aardvark’s is the best,” Hannah testifies despite the lack of space inside. She’s leaning against a cement pole, clad in a maroon leather jacket and jeans that don’t look like they’re doing a good job at protecting her from the Banff weather. “I remember coming here when I was a kid— I can’t believe it’s still open.”

Sam doesn’t know about the _best_. A couple vegan pizzerias in LA would put this place to shame, but at least the staff inside hadn’t judged her at all for ordering without cheese or meat. She takes another bite, curling her arms closer around herself. “You’ve been here before?”

“My parents own property near here,” Hannah says, and then winces. “God, that makes me sound so stuck up and rich. Please ignore everything I say that isn’t scripted.”

“You’re fine,” Sam laughs. She thinks about how this almost feels like an interview; whether that’s because Hannah is a movie star or because Sam hasn’t been out to lunch with a girl in months is anyone’s guess.

If she was a journalist she’d write pages upon pages dedicated to the easy way Hannah’s hair hangs over her shoulders, to the sharp glasses contradicting her soft eyes, to the tattoo poking out between her scarf and her jacket. But Sam isn’t a writer— her trade necessitates being a woman of action, not of description.

“Cool,” Hannah breathes, sounding like an excited teenager and not a grown woman who _has been to the Oscars and was_ **_nominated_ ** _for one._  She takes another bite of her pizza, obviously voracious. Sam wonders if it’s the fictional spirit of Makkapitew possessing her, or if Hannah’s agent just has her on a strict regimen. “What do you think of the script?”

Hannah reaches up to brush her thumb across the corner of her own mouth, fingertip osculating over the acute angle, and it takes Sam a moment to remember her own name let alone _what script_. Hannah follows the motion with her tongue, licking away any leftover pizza sauce, and Sam tries not to fall over. “It’s a little cheesy,” she mumbles, chewing her own slice in an attempt to distract herself. “But I like it. I really like it.”

Hannah mulls that over for a moment and then decides, “I think it comes with the territory. I mean, what teen slasher doesn’t have starchy, campy dialogue? The difference with this one is that it’s actually going to be scary— I mean, I guess it isn’t really a teen slasher at all, it’s more of a monster movie.”

“I think it’s a romance,” Sam says, and then instantly feels blood rush to every inch of her face.

Her blush must be obvious in the clear, cold afternoon light, but Hannah doesn’t comment on it, just looking intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Sam stammers. “Hallie is clearly in love with Jordan— that’s why she comes out to the mountain in the first place. But I think Jordan is in love with Hallie too, especially afterwards, when she realizes what she’s done. She’s… like, I don’t know. Her heart is broken.”

“That’s really something,” Hannah mutters, and for a second Sam experiences abject terror— a specific flavour she hasn’t tasted in years. It feels like being caught peeking in a locker room, or like her parents finding a magazine with Angelina Jolie splayed across the cover. She has to remind herself that Hannah has always been vocal about her sexuality and has been publicly bi for as long as she’s been a serious actor. “I think you should tell Jennifer.”

“What?”

“I think she’d agree with you and it would bring something new to the script. I mean,” Hannah shrugs, “ _I_ agree with you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sam stammers, well aware of how pink her cheeks have turned.

“Cool,” Hannah grins, taking another bite of pizza. This doesn’t exactly help Sam’s blush. “Can I tell you something? I don’t want to make this weird.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s already weird,” Sam points out, and Hannah tilts her head in confusion. “As far as I’m aware, most movie stars don’t eat pizza in random parking lots with people they’ve just met.”

“That’s the thing,” Hannah brightens, leaning forward. Her glasses slide down her nose and she subconsciously raises a finger to push them up. “Because I don’t feel like I’ve only just met you, because… well, okay. If I’m telling the truth, I had a crush on you for most of my life.”

Sam nearly drops her vegan pizza. “Wh—What?”

“I mean,” Hannah stutters, “since Cowboy High School _._ You were wearing, like, this horrible plastic pink skirt over leggings, and I just… there’s no explanation.”

“Oh my god.”

“And you did that random dance number, and I was so into it.”

“OH my god.”

Hannah laughs, and Sam hears bells once more. “It made me tell my parents I wanted to be a dancer, and then I tried to actually take a dance class and I sucked, and I figured out that I wanted to be an actor.”

“Oh my god,” Sam echoes weakly, shaking her head.

“I know, it’s embarrassing—”

“Uh,” Sam raises a hand to interrupt. “ _No_. It’s just… you used to be _my_ celebrity crush, because my friend made me come see Bob Washi— uh… he made me come see your dad’s movies with him, and I always thought you were the best actor I’d ever seen.”

Now it’s Hannah’s turn to look flabbergasted, and the way her jaw falls open is almost enough to quench the excited butterflies fluttering around Sam’s insides. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam exhales, nodding and gulping anxiously. “I mean, like… have you watched Asunción? Like have you _seen_ yourself in that movie? I think you were every lesbian teenager’s sexual awakening.”

Hannah raises an eyebrow. “Asunción didn’t even come out that long ago. And I die at the end.”

“Well,” Sam raises and releases her shoulders in the most mollified shrug ever, sighing to try to release some of her excited tension. “It’s a good movie.”

“Yeah, Josh is brilliant,” Hannah ducks her head and smiles. When she raises it her gaze is fixed on the Rockies, like there’s some secret hiding in the mountains that only she knows. Sam realizes anew that she’s standing in front of Hannah Washington, the woman she’s idolized for years. “But it’s no Sharkboy and Lavagirl.”

Shrieking in offense, Sam balls up a napkin and hurls it at Hannah. “How dare you,” she laughs helplessly. The napkin misses by at least a metre. “That movie is horrible.”

“That movie is _iconic_ ,” Hannah retorts, shoving the rest of her pizza into her mouth and tossing the paper plate in Sam’s direction. Years of tennis practice allow Sam to reach out and catch it, which feels a lot cooler than it probably looks. She flings it back at Hannah, who dodges with ease. “I don’t know who I’d be if I hadn’t seen you in your Lavagirl costume.”

Sam swallows around a sudden lump that has formed in her throat. She could swear Hannah’s eyes aren’t usually that dark, and suddenly an equally jarring and exhilarating thought occurs— are they _flirting_? She crosses her arms, not bothering to hide her smile even as she gives Hannah her best critical look. “I mean, given what you just told me, it sounds like you would maybe be straight.”

Sam’s Look of Judgment is a well-known Californian terror, notorious for forcing people into confessions they aren’t ready to make and turning the most ardent bacon lover vegetarian. But here it hits differently; the altitude has changed in their eardrums and their skulls, and the temperature is well below the sunny highs of Los Angeles. That geographical difference must be why Hannah raises an eyebrow, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Given what you’ve told me, it sounds like that might disappoint you.”

  


They aren’t scheduled to see each other again for three days, as Sam has a couple scenes to nail out with Matt in the school they’re renting out in town. So Sam really doesn’t expect to hear from Hannah again so soon, let alone the same night.

[ **received** ] i had a nice time at lunch, we should do that again! i’m so excited to be working with you, sorry if i was embarrassing or came on too strong.

There are twelve pillows total to be found in the Airbnb that the production provided for Sam. All of them are currently at the head of her bed, composing an ocean of extravagance and comfort. When Sam finally sees the text she pauses her music, settling back into the dozen pillows as her mind races to find the right response.

[ **sent** ] Hey! Yes we should make a habit of it :) I am so excited you are my Hallie, I wouldn’t dream of doing this with anyone else

[ **sent** ] Don’t be embarrassed but I have a question for you!! was today a date

No reply comes, and after an hour of scrolling through social media Sam eventually abandons her phone and her anxiety in favour of brushing out her hair and getting changed into pajamas.

The place they’ve put her up in is gorgeous and rustic, and at any other time Sam would have no complaints. But right now, after reaching out so boldly, the oaken walls feel like a cage and the fake heat is less comforting than Sam would like.

She suddenly hates the silence of the room, desperately missing her pets and her friends back home, so Sam flops into bed, determined to sleep. She’s almost dozed off before she remembers to set an alarm for tomorrow, and checks her phone.

[ **received** ] i hope so? i was wondering the same thing :)

  


Emily Davis is a good person.

Throughout high school and university she got high marks and attended all her classes (and most of the lectures), and still managed to maintain and uphold a relatively impressive social standing. The few relationships that she has had may have burnt out within months, but she always keeps in touch if appropriate and she has never been one to forget an anniversary. She was in Girl Scouts, for fuck’s sake.

All this to say, Emily Davis is a good person who deserves better than to wake up at 1:30 in the morning.

“What,” she mutters into the receiver without opening her eyes. If she’s lucky, it’ll be Ryan Reynolds, telling her he changed his mind about representation and he wants to fly her out to Vancouver so they can meet and discuss his terms. If she’s unlucky, it’ll be her mom, phoning her because she just woke up in some hotel room overseas and she wants to talk about setting Emily up with one of her clients.

An assortment of words are screamed at her through the receiver. Similar to bad trail mix or a Where’s Waldo page, Emily can pick nothing useful out in particular. She pulls the phone away, wincing and squinting at the bright screen as she tries to make out the caller’s contact information. Emily reads _Samantha Giddings,_  and her dreams of Ryan Reynolds shrivel up like raisins.

“Slow down,” she interrupts Sam’s hyperventilating, closing her eyes and throwing her head back against her pillow. Once, a previous boyfriend had told Emily it was weird that she preferred a hard pillow to sleep against just because she had read somewhere that it led to a better rest. Needless to say that relationship didn’t last very long. “Sam. What happened?”

“We went on a date,” Sam yells, finally slowing down. Emily can hear how heavily she’s breathing over the phone, and imagines that Sam has specially requested a treadmill be put in her lodgings. Or maybe she’s just straight-up hiking the Rockies. “Hannah! I went on a date with _Hannah Washington!”_

“You’re kidding,” Emily says, stifling a yawn behind her hand. “How?”

Sam tells her the entire fervent affair, and Emily takes the story as a blessing and uses it as an opportunity to drain the water bottle by her bed. She can’t quite force herself to sit up, no matter how contagious Sam’s excitement sounds. “... and then she just texted me, ‘have a good night and get some sleep.’ What do you think that means?”

Emily yawns into the back of her hand, eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah.”

“Like, am I supposed to interpret that as good or bad?”

Sam’s frogs quietly croak from their tank on Emily’s bedside table, and she nods at them in deep understanding. “Sure, Sam.”

“Sure? Like… sure it could be good, or sure it could be bad?”

Emily’s breathing evens out.

“I don’t think it’s bad but maybe she means I’m coming on too strong and I need to take it easy. But then again, like, she told me I was her childhood celebrity crush, so I mean, how is that taking it easy? Oh my god, Em, can you believe any of this?!”

Emily doesn’t reply, blissfully distracted. It takes another three minutes of chattering before Sam realizes her agent has fallen back asleep.

  


For a week Sam thinks nothing is going to come of the first date, as everything progresses normally. She tries to implement her routines as best she can here, replacing her workouts with hikes and her social time with rehearsal. When they’re on set Jennifer is harsh and unrelenting, often making them film dozens of takes of the exact same shot with no respite between.

But eventually the fastidious schedule grows on Sam, as does the thin mountain air. She doesn’t get to see Hannah that much after the first day of rehearsal but they have many scenes left to film together, and Sam gets to spend time meeting the rest of the cast.

She’s shooting one day with Adam White and Evelyn Daniels, two relatively unknown actors playing her parents when a phone goes off during a take. Because her phone is out of her pocket and across the room it takes a moment for Sam to realize the ringing phone is her very own.

“Oh my god,” she breaks character, twisting out of Evelyn and Adam’s clutches to sprint across the room. “I am so sorry, everyone. This has never happened to me before.”

“It’s fine,” Jennifer says, not sounding mad at all. Sam looks up at her in agony, worried that the casual monotone voice means she’s about to be fired. They aren’t _that_ far into the production— maybe they’ll recast. “No, really, it’s okay. Ashley just noticed something so we have to reshoot everything today anyway.”

Sam turns to Ashley, the script supervisor in charge of continuity, who nervously adjusts her hat. “Y-Your nails are supposed to be blue because the next scene starts with an extreme close-up of your hands on the bus,” she recites, stuttering but sounding sure of herself. “And your nails have to be the same colour.”

“Oh,” Sam says, nonplussed. She remembers what Emily had told her about Jennifer being very particular. “Uh. Okay.”

As the multi-million dollar production is put on hold so some poor intern can sprint to the closest dollar store in search of light blue nail polish, Sam checks that nobody is watching her— and then she takes a moment to check her phone.

[ **One missed call — Hannah Washington** ]

The sight of that elicits a tiny squeak that _definitely_ gets transmitted over the lav mic she’s wearing, but Sam is too excited to apologize to the sound guy. She glances over at Jennifer, and then starts drafting a text.

[ **sent** ] Sorry I’m on set! What’s going on?

[ **received** ] that’s okay! i’m getting cabin fever, do you want to hang out tonight maybe?

[ **sent** ] Sure! Do you want to come over to my cabin and have dinner in?

[ **received** ] sounds perfect

[ **received** ] it’s a date

  


In the Vogue 2017 issue that chose Hannah and Beth for its cover story, the interviewer had described their individual dinner with Hannah as a ‘ _tantalizingly awkward_ ’ affair. Sam knows, because she read that article five times over— she’s pretty sure it’s on top of her bathroom magazine pile.

Thanks to that article and her nerves and her massive crush and her high expectations, Sam is expecting their dinner together to be highly tense. In truth it ends up being the exact opposite. From the instant Hannah enters the bachelor apartment, a resounding quietude settles Sam’s nerves. Hannah’s presence feels wonderful and right, like this is exactly where she’s supposed to be. Sam wants to beg her never to leave.

After dinner (vegan pasta salad) they retire to the couch together, and Sam’s anxiety reboots all over again. But they end up doing nothing more intimate than curling close, never passing the first part of Netflix and chill. Hannah’s feet are cold so Sam loans her slippers, and Hannah wordlessly slides the mukluks on and pulls the blanket back over them without asking. It feels important.

They watch horror— it seems fitting, given the movie they’re working on. There’s a Madeline Brewer one that Sam really wants to see but Hannah convinces her to watch _The Shape Of Water_ instead, insisting it’ll be romantic. To Sam’s surprise, it is— it’s beautiful, and by the end she’s hiding her tears in Hannah’s shoulder.

The credits stop rolling, and Hannah rubs her back. Sam laughs, quiet and embarrassed, but Hannah’s face betrays no sign of pity, just deep understanding.

“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Hannah confesses, and for a crazy moment Sam wonders if Hannah is a telepath, because she’d just been thinking the very same thing. “I mean, you’re just. You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and then I meet you in person, and you’re— you’re even nicer than I could have dreamed. You’re the genuine article. I keep asking myself what the catch is.”

“Hannah,” Sam starts, astonished at Hannah’s honesty. There are still tears in her eyes from the movie— that must explain how choked up she sounds.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah backs up, releasing Sam and leaning away. “I… this is only our second date, I’m sorry for being weird.”

“You’re not weird,” Sam says, and it isn’t exactly the truth. The honest truth is that Hannah _is_ weird, and with every new weird discovery Sam likes her more and more. “I was just wondering if you read my mind because I feel just like that. Like, you’re so beautiful and smart, and everything you say just leaves me gaping like an idiot speechless every time. So if that makes it weird, then whatever. We’re weird.”

“We are weird,” Hannah laughs, delighted. Sam kisses her before she stops laughing, swallowing up the noise greedily. Hannah’s arms circle back around her and Sam is both overwhelmed and calm at once.

Hannah only breaks away from kissing to ask if they can watch Godzilla, and Sam thinks she might be in love.

  


November turns into December, days shrinking and nights deepening. Sam has split her time and schedule down the middle, bisecting herself into Samantha and Jordan.

The former part of her spends more time than is probably healthy with Hannah, growing close as the days fly by. They go skiing on a weekend off, and hike away their afternoons. Sam alternates nights between Hannah’s much nicer hotel room and her own drafty lodgings, which Hannah says she prefers. A fan runs into them in a Banff food court and asks for a picture, and it goes viral— Sam’s mom texts her about it. They go to the hot springs and Hannah tells Sam about wanting to get married someday, and Sam tells Hannah about her frogs.

The latter part of her is pushed harder than Sam has ever been pushed before, doing insane twelve-hour days on set and running around a freezing mountain in a full face of makeup and capri leggings. But the physical toll is far less than the emotional one. Sam was warned about how hard it would be to work with Jennifer, but the reality is even more difficult than she expected.

Also the script is challenging in ways that Sam hadn’t prepared for. As she grows closer to Hannah Jordan and Hallie grow closer, encouraged by their director in every scene to play up the romance. Hannah gets outfitted for her costume and it’s a _lot_ scarier than the plastic bag she used in the audition, and all of a sudden Sam goes from filming cruel prank scenes to running for her life from a skeletal monster.

One particularly tough scene to shoot comes after the realization that Hallie is Makkapitew, when the tables have turned and Jordan begins her own hunt. Hannah shouldn’t even be on set for this but she’s sticking around anyway because they have plans afterwards.

“It says here that the monster is afraid of fire,” Sam continues, tearing her eyes away from Hannah and back to the scene. Matt is drenched in fake blood and covered in painted bruising, because Lucas has narrowly escaped death _six_ times now. “That’s all we have to go on right now.”

“It’s afraid of fire, and it can’t come out during the day,” Matt says, nodding slowly. “Okay. So maybe we trap it.”

“I don’t know, maybe she’s too smart for that,” Sam mumbles, dragging a hand over her forehead. She feels just as exhausted as Jordan, no acting necessary. “But I mean, if we could find something to bait it with… or someone…”

Matt narrows his eyes. He steps away from the table between them. _“She?”_

“I— I meant—”

“Is there something you aren’t fucking telling me?”

“Okay,” Sam exhales, trembling. “Okay. Fuck. I… When that thing nearly got me, I was begging for my life and I thought I heard… I thought I heard it talk.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Lucas…”

“So, great,” Matt throws his hands in the air. “Now we’re dealing with an all-powerful monster who _speaks English?_  What next? Can it fly?”

“Lucas,” Sam repeats. “When it talked. It sounded like Hallie.”

“And cut! That’s all we need, we have to move onto Lucas’ close-up because we’re running out of time,” Jennifer tells them, yanking them unceremoniously out of the scene. “Can we get some powder on Sam, please? Her forehead is a little shiny.”

Sam glances over behind Video Village, but there’s no sign of Hannah.

  


Emily zones out from whatever her date is saying, picking up her phone to read a text message.

[ **received** ] Does it count as breaking and entering if you’re breaking into a hotel room? Because technically they don’t live there.

“Jess, just a second,” she interrupts, draining the rest of her wine. “Sorry, a crazy person is texting me.”

[ **sent** ] YES.

[ **received** ] Okay but what if you’re dating? Does it count as breaking and entering then?

[ **sent** ] EXTRA YES.

  


The room is dark, and for a second Sam thinks her intuition has led her astray. But as her eyesight adjusts she can see a person laying on the bed in a white robe, so Sam enters the hotel room tentatively, ignoring any further texts from Emily.

“I didn’t let you in,” Hannah mumbles, face-down against the pillows. It’s obvious she’s been crying and Sam slows her approach, mind racing to think of what could have happened. Maybe something went down with Beth or Josh.

“I broke in,” Sam says, making it sound much cooler than what actually happened. “Well. The concierge recognized me.”

“I don’t know if I want to be around anyone right now,” Hannah mumbles, and Sam stops short.

“Do you want me to go?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sam says, taking a seat on the floor by the bed. Hannah lifts her head to look over at her, sniffling. “Do you know what’s wrong..?”

“It was just… watching you,” Hannah whispers. A chill runs up Sam’s spine. “I mean… listening to Jordan. And what you said about… about me. About Hallie.”

They’ve toed the line between the real world and the script before, but never like this. If it wasn’t for how Hannah is crying, the darkness and uncertainty would almost be thrilling. “Okay,” Sam repeats, quietly testing the waters. “What part upset you… Hallie?”

Hannah’s heavy breathing stops entirely, eyes widening in the darkness. She rolls onto her side, unable to sit herself up yet. But it’s a start. “Listening to you talk to Lucas,” Hannah begins, every word slow like Sam is going to turn and run at any second. She doesn’t, and after a second, Hannah continues, “in the safe-room.”

“The…” Sam struggles to remember. “Was it the stuff about fire?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head, lowering her voice. “It was the way you called me a monster.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sam sighs, endearment escaping instinctively. “You’re not a monster.”

She expects Hannah to break down and start crying again, or maybe to get up from the bed. But instead she watches the woman shrink into herself, like Sam told her the opposite of what she wanted to hear. She doesn’t look comforted at all— in fact, Hannah looks distinctly uncomfortable.

“I think maybe I do want to be alone,” Hannah mutters, lowering her face back into the bedspread. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, nearly tripping over her feet as she gets up to leave. “I don’t— I’m sorry, Hannah, did I—”

“No, it’s fine,” Hannah waves her off without looking over, and Sam gets the sense it isn’t. But Hannah clearly doesn’t want to talk, so Sam just leaves, locking the door behind her.

  


They hit a roadblock.

Hannah pretends they don’t, and if Sam didn’t already know she was a great actor this would surely make her realize. On the days they shoot from the mountain they still drive back together, and they reschedule their dinner plans.

But something has shifted between them, and Sam _knows_ Hannah knows because she isn’t acting the same. She literally isn’t acting the same on set, to the point where Jennifer calls her out on it during a heavily emotional scene.

Sam watches Hannah closely as Jennifer lectures her, wishing she could crawl inside Hannah’s brilliant brain and figure out exactly where she went wrong.

  


Just when Sam is at her breaking point she figures it out. It’s not the most glamorous moment of realization— she’s halfway through a family-sized bag of tortilla chips and the Vogue issue when she stumbles across something that strikes a chord.

_I ask who their influences are and Hannah smiles like a Sphinx, like she’s been waiting this entire interview for me to ask that very question. As a fan I am intrigued, as a journalist on the clock— infuriated._

_Instead of naming Sigourney or Mia Hannah gets to her feet, bringing me a book. She hands it over with the caveat that I am not allowed to take pictures, but I can take notes. My only hope is that when the Washingtons open up their inevitable Bleak House(s?), they decide to include this book._

_I expect a diary or address book and am met with the physical manifestation of Pinterest. Hannah presents me with a farrago of paraphernalia, photos, and drawings, expecting me to glean meaning instantly. There are no photos of_ **_people_ ** _, and most of the pictures are unrecognizable. In the margins of her Tumblr scrapbook Hannah has scrawled poems and quotes, mostly by unfamiliar female names. Hannah Gamble stands out to me immediately._

Sam scrolls down to the comments section to find the referenced poems, but nobody has done any research. She supposes she could just text Hannah and ask, but that would require confessing her midnight reread of Hannah’s interview.

Instead Sam takes to the web herself in search of answers, and when she stumbles onto the correct answer it’s almost too simple. She drops the bag of chips.

  


This time she knocks, because breaking into someone’s room at one in the morning is probably even more inadvisable than doing it at seven P.M.

After a minute of silence Hannah unlocks and opens the door, wearing pajamas and a bleary-eyed expression. Her shirt says ‘ _MEOWDY_ ’ above a picture of a cartoon cat in a cowboy hat. “Is everything okay?”

“What?” Sam looks down at herself and realizes she hasn’t put a drop of makeup on, and more embarrassingly, that she’s got crumbs all over her chest. “Yeah, I’m great. Did I wake you up?”

“Yes,” Hannah blinks. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know,” Sam winces, brushing the crumbs off her chest. “I’m sorry. I just… I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Why you’ve been upset,” Sam steps forward, and Hannah moves aside to let her in. “About the monster thing.”

The door shuts and Hannah slumps a little, rubbing a hand over the top of her scalp to smooth down her bedhead. It doesn’t work. “I’m not upset.”

“Yeah, you are, but I get it now. You aren’t—” Sam struggles to find the perfect wording, desperate for Hannah to understand her. “I mean, you’re playing a monster.”

“I don’t really want—”

“And that’s okay,” Sam says quickly, before Hannah can kick her out again. “I mean, I… I’m okay with the monster. It’s okay that you’re a monster.”

They could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. Hannah’s eyes are wide and wild, but she doesn’t look like she wants to slap Sam in the face, so maybe the crazed look in her eyes is a good thing.

“I mean,” Sam stutters. “Unless I’m completely off-base—”

“N-No, you’re not—”

“It just feels like you’ve really connected to Hallie so I just wanted to tell you—” Sam shakes her head. “That I’m good, with that. If that’s. A part of you. Then I like that part too, because I like all of you.”

Hannah is shaking.  _"Sam."_

“I mean I still think your costume is scary but it’s kind of hot when you’re taller than me, and the teeth are cool,” Sam chatters, unable to stop her nervous rant. “And I’m starting to suspect, um, that I might love the monster. So. Yeah.”

Even in only the dim light from the hallway, Sam can see a rosy blush sitting high on Hannah’s face. She clears her throat, and then looks up at Sam. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam breathes out quickly, relief settling in. “God, I’m so glad I wasn’t completely wrong. I thought you were gonna knock me out.”

“No,” Hannah says, pulling her in, “never,” and then neither of them talk for a long while afterwards.

  


At five in the morning Sam wakes up, twisting around to poke Hannah in the side. “Hey.”

“Mm.”

“I should have known way earlier, because you showed me _The Shape Of Water_ on our second date. I should have _known_.”

“Go back to sleep,” Hannah laughs into her hair, and Sam does, smiling peacefully.

  


On set their dynamic is even better than it was before, and even Jennifer notices, interrupting a rehearsal of the final lodge scene where Sam is standing up to Makkapitew in front of Lucas and the other kids. “Something changed between you two,” she muses aloud. “I love it.”

“It’s because we’re together,” Hannah says bluntly, and Sam nearly falls over in shock. She grins up at Hannah in the Makkapitew costume, and Hannah grins down, albeit with several more teeth than usual.

Lucas whoops and cheers from his position on the floor, and Jennifer just looks vaguely disappointed. “You should have been together from the start, then,” she mutters. “If I could, I would reshoot everything.”

“Uhh, please no,” says Billy Bates, the head of wardrobe currently pulling at Sam’s jacket. “Your entire crew will walk out.”

“It would be worth it,” Jennifer deadpans, and Sam starts to suspect that she’s actually the funniest person on set. “Okay, we have to start shooting, but first can we get finals on Lucas?”

A ringing phone interrupts her, and all eyes on set turn to Sam. “It’s not me,” she argues weakly. “I learned my lesson!”

“It’s mine,” Hannah says, walking away on her partial stilts. She reaches a long, skeletal hand towards her assistant, who looks severely underwhelmed as he hands her the phone. Hannah’s face lights up behind the mask and latex, and she turns back to the crew. “Uh, I have to take this, can I have five minutes?”

“You can have two,” the assistant director informs her, and Hannah answers the video call instantly, stalking away to the other room. Sam can’t see whoever she’s FaceTiming, but she can only imagine their expression.

When Hannah returns, Billy is done his work, and makeup steps away from Matt. Sam only has eyes for Hannah, who looks distraught as she passes her phone off to the assistant. “What’s wrong?” she whispers, quietly enough that only the microphones and Hannah can hear her.

“Nothing,” Hannah says, blinking. “Tell you later.”

  


Later gets postponed to much later, as after set they go out for drinks with Matt and the scripty Ashley, who is a lot more fun when she’s not calling them out for failing to be word-perfect. Sam has never been much of a drinker and Hannah is the same way, so they share a pitcher of sweet craft cider and nurse it all night as Matt and Ashley go one-for-one.

In all the hazy camaraderie Sam nearly forgets to ask Hannah about the phone call, and then once it occurs to her it feels impolite to ask in public. But she’s beyond curious, so she waits until Matt and Ashley head to the bar to order another round and then leans in. “Hey.”

Hannah leans right back, using her proximity as a means to slide her arm around Sam’s waist. “Hey yourself.”

Sam considers just taking their moment alone as an opportunity to make out, but her curiosity is pressing. “So… uh, who called you earlier? On set? Is everything okay?”

“What?” Hannah blinks, and then her grip tightens on Sam’s side. “Oh! Yeah, everything’s good! That was Beth. We just… it’s kinda dumb.” Sam leans against Hannah’s arm, looking up at her, and finally Hannah says, “She just told me she can’t fly out here for Christmas.”

“Aww... I’m sorry.” Sam kisses the side of Hannah’s jaw. “Do you usually spend the holidays with your family?”

“Always,” Hannah sighs. “I mean, Josh comes and goes, but I’ve never spent a Christmas without Beth before my whole life. It’s childish but I miss her, you know? I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be here,” Sam reminds her softly.

“Right. I just meant… you’re right,” Hannah says, staring down at Sam. Matt and Ashley return with their next round, and Sam doesn’t move her head from Hannah’s shoulder. After a few minutes, Hannah’s posture eases.

  


Emily isn’t flying home for the holidays this year, but she’s booked off a few days for her family to come visit and more importantly, work has really been turning around lately. What with Sam’s big Bridger creature feature and Jessica’s new Netflix drama, Emily’s schedule is fully booked, just the way she likes it.

So on one of her days off when she sees an incoming call from Sam, who has quite possibly actually lost her mind in the mountains of Alberta, Emily is tempted to break a cardinal rule and not take the phone call.

Her sister gives the vibrating phone a curious look and then glances at Emily, and Emily knows she’s screwed. “Ugh. Sorry. One second. Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Em,” Sam says, sounding much more stable than Emily has become accustomed to over the past few weeks. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” Emily says hesitantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She imagines Sam on this call while dangling off the edge of a mountain, or conducting a bank robbery.

“That’s great,” Sam exclaims. “Work has been hectic over here, I’ve really missed you!”

Emily narrows her eyes. “I… I miss you too.” She suddenly feels a rush of guilt for judging her friend so prematurely, and sighs. “How are things?”

“Everything’s great, thanks for asking,” Sam practically sings. “I won’t take up too much of your time, I know you’re a very busy person.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m at lunch with my sister. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if there’s any way you can steal Joshua Washington’s phone number for me.”

Emily stands up from her chair, looking around for the nearest fountain to fling her phone into. None are close enough, and she eyes the fish tank by the door in consideration. “ _What_.”

“It’s not for business!” Emily collapses back into her chair, hands curling into tighter fists with every additional word Sam speaks. “It’s personal!”

“I _especially_ can’t get it if it’s personal!”

“You can do anything, you’re the best,” Sam tells her. “If you could send it to me by the end of the day that would be awesome. Love you, say hi to Angela!”

“Sam, I am _not going to steal Joshua_ — she hung up,” Emily finishes weakly, dropping her phone into her lap. “She just hung up on me. She’s the devil.”

Angela shrugs, taking another bite of her burger. “Did she say hi to me?”

Emily cradles her head in her hands. “Yeah.”

“Oh, cool. Say hi back.”

  


“Uh, hello?” The voice comes through the receiver, canned but present.

Sam punches a triumphant fist in the air. “Yes, hi! Um, is this Joshua Washington?”

“Yeah,” Joshua Washington drawls back, sounding a tad suspicious. Or maybe stoned. “Who’s this?”

“Samantha Giddings,” Sam recites nervously. “I’m working with your sister on a movie in Alberta—”

“Oh, I know who _you_ are,” Josh laughs. “Trust me, Han’s told me quite enough. How’s it going?”

“Good,” Sam nods, and then remembers that Josh can’t see her. “Hannah’s amazing, and the script is really good, so it’s gonna be… yeah, it’s great.”

“Not the movie,” Josh says. “How are things between you and Han? I know she’s head over heels; she’s not coming on too strong, is she? Once in high school I found a shrine in her room for a guy she liked at school.”

“No,” Sam says. Hannah hasn’t even said she loves Sam back yet, so the news that her family is well aware of Sam is welcome news indeed.

“That’s good. She’s obsessed with you, it’s all I hear about these days.”

“Really?” Sam shakes herself off. “Well, I, uh… I know she’s pretty sad about not getting to see you and Beth for the holidays so. I don’t know, I wanted to make her Christmas perfect. So I thought I’d call you and ask what she might like for a present.”

Josh hums thoughtfully. “A ring?”

“Do you think she’d—”

“Just kidding. Wait. Unless you’d–?!”

“No, not yet,” Sam hesitates. “Probably not…?”

“ _Jesus_ , you’re just as smitten as she is,” Josh says, and Sam is grateful he can’t see her blush. “Samantha Giddings, you could get my sister a crumpled up napkin and you’d still be the centre of her universe.”

“Right,” Sam hums. “I’ll try to think of something. Thanks.”

“No worries,” Josh says. “Good luck.”

The line goes dead and an idea starts to form in Sam’s mind.

  


The end of December creeps closer and Sam puts her plan into action, taking some time every day to do research for her present. It’s a two-pronged plan, and if all goes well she’s hoping Hannah will like both parts.

On Christmas Eve Sam heads over to Hannah’s hotel room, package in tow. Thankfully Jennifer’s gift to all of them was not making them work on the actual holidays, a gesture many of the crew had not expected.

Billy flies home on a red-eye to be with his wife, Agnes— or maybe her name is Loretta; Sam can never remember. Matt spends the day skiing, and on any other day Sam would love to join him on the slopes but her plan for today is too important.

She knocks on the door to Hannah’s room, listening to the sound of _Home Alone_ abruptly being shut off. Hannah rushes to the door like she’s expecting someone, and then opens it and looks surprised to see Sam. “Oh! I got room service, I thought that was you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Sam says, kissing Hannah and gently walking her back into the room. She doesn’t close the door behind them, pulling the first gift from behind her back. “Here, is it okay if I give you your present today?”

“Uh, of _course_ ,” Hannah says, taking the proffered gift and eagerly tearing into the wrapping paper. When she’s fully unwrapped the book she looks up at Sam, wide-eyed. “Is this supposed to be…”

“It’s like your Bleak House book,” Sam says, swallowing down her embarrassment. “I mean, not literally like _Bleak House_ , the book, like the Guillermo Del Toro thing. I read about it in Vogue and I liked it so I made one.”

“It’s about us,” Hannah says in wonder, flipping through the pages. Most of the photos are unrelated entirely but there’s some set pictures, which is probably what gave it away. Or the sappy poems and quotes Sam scribbled in all the margins. “Sam, this is… Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Sam kisses her, but pulls back after a moment. “I know we’ve only been dating for a couple weeks but I’ve seriously never felt like this about anyone before, Hannah. You mean everything to me.”

“Yeah,” Hannah reaches up to wipe at the corner of her eye, flipping through the book incredulously and then closing it. “Same. I lo—”

“Wait,” Sam grins. “This is a two-part gift. You mean everything to me, but I know there’s someone else who means everything to you.”

And on cue, Beth Washington steps in from the hallway.

Hannah shrieks— not her usual wendigo shriek, but almost as loud— and launches herself at her sister. “Beth! What are you doing here?”

Beth is crying or laughing too hard to properly get the joke out, but she still gives it a valiant try. “You ordered room service!”

“Holy shit,” Hannah gasps, wrapping her arms around Beth like she never intends to let go. Both girls are crying, and Sam is getting a little weepy just watching. “Holy shit. You didn’t have to do this for me, I thought you said it was too much money!”

“I didn’t,” Beth says patiently. “Sam bought me a last-minute ticket.”

“Oh,” Hannah says, voice fluttering. She turns back to face Sam, and the look on her face makes Sam’s heart tremble in her chest. “ _Sam_. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I had to,” Sam says, and discovers that she’s fully crying now. She reaches up to wipe away a tear and Hannah pulls her over, so the three of them end up in a tear-filled group hug together. “Merry Christmas.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Beth tells her.

  


Hannah and Beth spend Christmas Eve together, and even though they invite her to spend it with them Sam decides it’s best to give them their time alone. She resigns herself to a night of holiday specials alone on her couch, keeping the warm thought of Hannah’s happiness in her heart.

Even considering that joy Sam can’t help but feel a little lonely, isolated in an apartment she doesn’t own without any friends or pets or lovers or family. She thinks about opening the Dom Pérignon in the fridge that they’re saving for New Year’s Eve, but eventually Sam resigns herself to a sober night alone.

She doesn’t have a tree or any decorations up, having spent the entire month either working on the movie or working on Hannah’s present. There’s a broken candy cane somewhere at the bottom of her purse, which is about as festive as Sam plans on getting this year.

Eventually Sam drags herself off the couch and over to the creaky bed, where she collapses face-first into the mattress and falls asleep before midnight.

When she wakes up, Hannah is standing at the side of her bed.

“Now who’s breaking into _whose_ hotel room,” Sam sleepily jokes, but before she can chastise her Hannah climbs onto the bed. She kisses Sam, slow but purposeful, hands moving over her shoulders and cheeks.

“Merry Christmas,” Hannah whispers, and Sam blinks, having forgotten what day it was. She reaches up to pull Hannah down. All in all, it’s the best Christmas of her life.

  


CODA - EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

The stars are out in California, and not just in the sky. Tonight is the premiere of Jennifer Bridger’s new horror film _Monstrum_ , already being hailed by critics as an iconic subversion of many facets of the genre. There’s an inside joke making the rounds on Twitter about how _Monstrum_ is the year’s most exciting romance flick, and the stars of the movie would have to agree.

Sam and Hannah are making their red carpet rounds, both equally inept at it. Anyone worth their salt would know to look for Emily Davis in the crowd, currently rolling her eyes and gesturing for Sam to act differently. It won’t work.

But Sam has something on her mind other than _Monstrum_ , and as she watches someone ask Hannah what she thinks about Oscar buzz she suddenly can’t wait any longer. They’ve discussed this before at great lengths, but they’ve never talked about doing it in the public eye or what that might mean.

Sam bites her lip and then takes the leap. Before she knows it, she’s lowering herself to one knee, and the crowd of reporters is gasping.

Hannah turns around, beautiful as always but looking transcendent thanks to the expensive makeovers Jennifer’s team made them get. When she sees Sam kneeling she nearly drops her clutch. “Oh my _god_.”

“I know this isn’t what we talked about,” Sam tries to steady her breathing. “So, uh, please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Hannah shakes her head, smiling brightly.

“You already know everything I’m about to say,” Sam pauses. “So I better get to the point, I guess. I… from the very beginning… actually, from _way_ before then… holy crap, this is the worst proposal ever. Oh fuck, I just swore on live TV.”

The crowd of reporter laughs but Hannah just nods, still beaming down at her.

“Every time I thought about love, I always thought about you,” Sam says. “I always… I wanted it to be you. Always.” She fishes the box out of her pocket, opening it to reveal a ring set with moonstone. “So can we get married?”

“Only because you stole my heart in Lavagirl,” Hannah tries to joke, but the smile on her face is completely giving her away. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you, Sam, I love you so much.”

She pulls Sam up to her feet and they kiss. The ensuing roar from the crowd is deafening, but Sam and Hannah only have eyes for each other.


End file.
